


The End of The Ballad of John da Fierce Baldur da Dragonslayer and Helga Baldur da Lifedrinker Axe

by DraketheDragon



Series: Dnd character stories [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: I cried while writing this, John has been through some stuff, Lets do this!, No ones going to read this so, Other, This is a story about my dnd party, and then got his brain melted by an intellect devourer, fun times, got possessed by a evil green stone, he got insanity points from the underdark, major agnst, so . . . ANGST, so he believes he's married to his axe, then stuff went down, this is why i can't have nice things, when a crack character turns tragic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 02:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraketheDragon/pseuds/DraketheDragon
Summary: "It was the calm before the storm, the sudden intake of breathe while watching a plate teeter on the edge of a table, about to fall, hoping it would not. Hsssatle was in front of him, shaking and bleeding, skin bruised and bones broken, as if he could keep judgement from falling down with his frail form. John's words echoed in the air, his promise, once given, could not be taken back. His sacrifice lay heavy on his shoulders and mind. His offering lay on his palms, his heart, his soul, his love for their lives.In the back of his mind there was the sound of a crash, a plate smashing against against the floor, shattered and broken beyond repair."





	The End of The Ballad of John da Fierce Baldur da Dragonslayer and Helga Baldur da Lifedrinker Axe

It was the calm before the storm, the sudden intake of breathe while watching a plate teeter on the edge of a table, about to fall, hoping it would not. Hsssatle was in front of him, shaking and bleeding, skin bruised and bones broken, as if he could keep judgement from falling down with his frail form. John's words echoed in the air, his promise, once given, could not be taken back. His sacrifice lay heavy on his shoulders and mind. His offering lay on his palms, his heart, his soul, his love for their lives.

In the back of his mind there was the sound of a crash, a plate smashing against against the floor, shattered and broken beyond repair.

Numbly he saw Vasssferin stand up and freeze, Tatlya get up and scoot to the corner, Gaelen open one eye then close it, pretending to still be unconscious. Helen said something, trying to help, but it came out in the twinkling language of angels. Norbert bamphed in, a drugar in his hands, proclaiming that he had killed the one that had shot the wayward fire bolt.

To John wvweything was frozen, the great stone eyes of the sentinels regarding him with the eyes of the dead.

Then slowly one ghost slipped from its shell, passing through Norbert and Hsssatle to float in front of John and his offering. He lay his hand on Helga's shaft. John wanted to yank away, pull her closer, scream that they could not have her. He searched for his rage but found cold fear and sadness instead. For eighty years he had carried her, he did not know what he was without her. John and Helga. Helga and John. Through battle and blood they had fought together. She had taken life and given it to him, as he had taken adventure and given her glory. John and Helga. Helga and John. There was no John without Helga, he would not let her go!

But he did not move when the ghost picked her up. He did not move as the ghost placed her on the alter beside the book that had started it all. He did not move while the sentinels strode back to there pedestals. Silent tears rolled down into his still growing beard. (He had been with Helga in that lava elemental, hair burning off and armor melting white hot, searing his skin. She had been with them.)

Tatlya lay a gental hand on his shoulder, her ears lain back on her head, her cat face worried. "Would you like a shortsword or longsword?"

"Longsword," his voice was far away, lips numb and frozen (like with the frost giant, Helga had been with him then). He wanted Helga! He remembered when he first saw her, a gift from the family of the child he saved. He'd been a dwarfling, the son of a brewer, who had never touched a weapon yet had still leapt foolhardily into battle. Her blade had glinted black, her runes glowing blood-red, her grip fit his hands as if made only for him. "A hero's weapon," they had said, "Only worthy dwarves carry her into battle." He didn't feel like a hero, he didn't feel worthy.

He felt like a traitor.

 _Don't replace me to soon, my love._ Her voice, Helga's voice. The others said he was crazy, that axes didn't speak. But what did they know? They activated obvious traps and got half the party knocked out in six seconds. "Never." He pledged. The others were leaving, filling out of the room. He stood, but could not leave. One of the ghosts flickered in his vision, a small, sad smile on its translucent face. Words tickeled the back of his brain, but it might of been his imagination. He had heard phantom voices before.

" _She doesn't make it easy, does she?"_ Then the ghost was gone, back to the crypts to await the next intruder.

_What will you wield next?_

He didn't know. Not a warhammer, that was his twins weapon. Not a greataxe, it would not feel right. Maybe a greatsword? He looked at the longsword in his hand, small and fragile compared to his great dwarven mitts. It did not have Helga's grip, molded to his hands. "I guess I'll use this."

Her laughter in his head, bright and melodic and slightly metallic. _Oh John, I'll miss you._

"We'll see each other again." Neither stated how unlikely this was. John felt sick to his stomach. He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him. _You have the heart of a hero my love._ He swallowed and left. He did not look back.

Because if he did, he would never leave.

 


End file.
